


The longer I make your name, the more it means I love you.

by tillyenna



Series: NYR Punishment verse [5]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Hospital, M/M, car crash, gratuitous use of russian diminutives, hurt comfort, off screen injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tillyenna/pseuds/tillyenna
Summary: At the hospital, after Pavel and Igor's car crash. Not fixing anything except maybe my broken heart.I needed this. So I wrote it. It was supposed to be Henke/Igor focused. It is not.Also there's a lot of extra cutesy use of russian diminutives in this.
Relationships: Henrik Lundqvist/Igor Shesterkin, Pavel Buchnevich/Artemi Panarin
Series: NYR Punishment verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654312
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	The longer I make your name, the more it means I love you.

**Author's Note:**

> You can assume in this that most of the conversation happens in Russian. Because why would they even speak English to each other. Also because Igor.

The second Artemi gets the call, he’s in a cab on the way to the hospital. He’s been in this country long enough to not forget his English when he’s panicked, but it doesn’t expect the same from Pasha, and he’d rather be there to help explain.

He gets to the ER in record time, and the cabbie gets a tip which probably makes his night, but that’s not important to Artemi, what’s important is getting inside and finding Pasha. He asks at the front desk, says he’s ‘family’ when they asks – it’s not true, but he can’t say the truth, not here in New York where there might be someone to recognise him, but he’s hoping his accent will do the trick, and make them believe the lie. He’s lead through to a room, where Pasha is sat on a chair, and the second they are alone, he draws his boy into his arms.

“Hey, Pavushenka, I’m here.” He presses a kiss into Pasha’s hair. “You’re ok.”

Pavel nods, letting himself be held for a moment, “Igoryok is not.” He manages to stammer out before dissolving into tears. From the puffy red eyes Artemi can tell it’s not the first time he’s cried this evening.

“Do you want me to go and check on him?”

Pasha looks up at him, blue eyes brimming with tears, “You’d do that Tyomechka?”

“Of course,” Artemi can’t help but lean down to press another kiss to his forehead, “I’ll do whatever you need.”

Pavel sniffs, and nods, “Please.”

The second a nurse appears, Artemi is careful to take a step back, “Could I see our other cousin,” the lie continues easily, “He came in with Pasha, and he doesn’t speak a lot of English.”

“Of course sweety,” The nurse smiles at him, “He’s two bays down.”

Artemi slips out, letting her continue to do her checks on Pasha, and finds his way to where Igor is.

“Hey,” he says softly, and at the sound of his own language, Igor’s head snaps up. He looks calmer than Pasha did, but his face is grey with pain.

“Tyoma!” He gives a weak grin, “Did Pasha call you?”

Artemi shakes his head, “The hospital, I’m listed as his family member.” He sits down on the edge of the hospital bed, “Do you know what’s happening?”

Igor shook his head, “I think they’ve said something about ribs, I don’t know what.”

“I can ask for you, and come translate.” He reaches out to ruffle the younger players hair gently, “Anyone you want me to call?” He’s not sure who Igor is closest to on the team, whether his need for someone to translate would mean he’d rather have Sasha, even this close to the fucking trade deadline. Of course, he’s closest to Artemi and Pavel themselves, but Artemi can’t be in two places at once.

“Henrik.” Comes the answer, sure and steady. “I need you to call Henke.”

It’s a surprise, last Artemi had checked, Igor was still convinced that the older netminder hated him – but he nodded. “I’ll call him.”

He managed to corner a nurse, “Igor doesn’t understand what is wrong, can you explain to me so I can translate?” He asks in English.

This means Artemi gets the dubious honour of letting Igor know that he has to go for x-rays to see if his ribs are broken

“Fuck,” Igor swears softly, “Please call Henrik, and tell him I’m sorry.”

“Of course,” Artemi reaches out to stroke his hair softly, “I’m going to go and check on Pasha again, ok? If the nurse wants to come and talk to you, tell her to come find me.” He pauses, he knows what Igor’s English is like, “Can you practise for me?”

Igor rolls his eyes, but obediently says, “Please find bread.”

Artemi can’t help the smile that brings, but he shakes his head, “Say Artemi, because if they aren’t a hockey fan, they’ll probably find you some actual bread.”

Igor shrugs, and then instantly regrets it, reaching for the cardboard bowl beside his bed and retching into it.

“Poor Igoryok,” He coos over him for another minute, until the retching has stopped, and then he steps outside the room. He reaches into his pocket, and flicks through his contacts.

“Artemi?” Henrik answers, he sounds confused.

“Henke,” He suddenly realises there’s no easy way to say this, “I’m at the hospital with Igor and Pasha,” he speaks quickly, not giving Henrik a moment to interrupt, “They’re both going to be ok, but Igor wants you here.”

“I’m on my way.” Is all Henrik says, “Text me the address.” It’s abrupt, and Artemi isn’t quite sure why Igor wants Henrik of all people here, but he’s done as he promised, so he doesn’t feel guilty as he slips back to Pasha’s bedside.

“Hey,” he slips easily back into his own tongue, there’s no-one in there with them, so he stands as close to Pasha as he wants to, and reaches down to press a soft kiss to his lips, “How are you feeling?”

“Better now you’re here.” Pasha smiled up at him.

They have another couple of minute, until a nurse sticks her head into the cubicle. “Would you mind coming to translate for your cousin?” She asks Artemi, and of course, he goes to oblige.

He translates as best he can, explaining to Igor that they’re taking him off to have an x-ray. Bless, the young netminder just nods, biting his lip, but when Artemi mentions that he’s called Henrik and the older man is on his way, he sees a small smile on Igor’s face for the first time since he arrived.

He has another few minutes sat with Pasha, getting to run his hands through Pasha’s short hair, press kisses to his face when no-one can see them. He’s startled by someone stepping in, and looks up to see Henrik Lundqvist, still mostly in his suit, he’s lost the jacket and tie, but still has his waistcoat on.

“Where’s Igor?” Henrik’s usual brusque attitude has a tense and nervous air underneath it.

“He’s in for x-rays.” Artemi doesn’t let go of Pasha’s hand, the team know about them, even if they usually try and keep things strictly friendly in the locker room. “They’re worried his ribs are broken.”

“Fuck,” Henrik turns away for a moment, and Artemi can see him biting on his knuckles before he turns back to face them, “Did they say how long it would take?”

Artemi shakes his head. “I hope not too long.”

“Fuck.” Henrik swears, it seems so unlike him, and Artemi can see the tension across his face.

“I can go…” He starts, but Henrik interrupts him.

“Stay with Pavel,” he says softly, and there’s the Henrik that Artemi knows, that quiet control that they all depend on. “I will go and find the x-ray department.”

Igor is mostly trying to ignore the pain, he’s not doing such a good job – it hurts when he breathes, which probably means his rib is broken, it hurts when he moves in any way, and the more pain he’s in the less he seems to understand the English that the people around him are speaking. He could have asked Tyomek to stay with him, but he knows that Pasha needs him more – Pasha who cried while they waited for the ambulance, Pasha who cried when they got to the hospital, Pasha who is probably still crying. Igor isn’t used to being the strong one, Tyomek and Pasha have taken care of him since him came up from Hartford, Sasha translates occasionally, and perhaps if he’d asked Tyomek to call Sasha, that would have been better – at least with Sasha here he would be able to stay strong, he has enough self preservation in him that he never lets Sasha see any weakness. Still, he’s used to being taken care of, and now he had to be the one to take care of Pasha, at least until they had arrived at the hospital, even though he’s sure Pasha is fine, and he clearly isn’t. It doesn’t feel fair. He’s on the verge of fighting back tears, when he hears a familiar voice in the hallway as they wheel him out of the x-ray room.

“Henka!” He tries to reach out, and then regrets the sudden movement in his arm.

“Hey,” Henrik is at his side in an instant, soft hands brushing through his hair, “It’s ok. Don’t move, I’m here.”

“I sorry.” Igor can feel the tears starting to spill over his eyelashes – he’d tried so hard to hold onto his strength, but now Henrik was here it felt like there was no need.

“Was it your fault?” As always, Henrik asked the one question that really got down to it. He wasn’t there to pander to Igor.

“I think no.” Igor doesn’t know why he feels uncertain about this – there was no way he could have seen it coming, there was no way he could have avoided it.

Henrik’s face is still stern “You were wearing your seatbelts?”

“Dah.”

“Well then,” Henrik strokes his head once more, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But…” Igor struggles to find the words to say how much he has to be sorry for, “Not can play.”

That causes a smile to tug at the corner of Henrik’s mouth, “Good,” he says, his tone is soft, teasing, “It’s about time Georgie and I got a chance.”

Igor reaches up to wipe away his own tears, furious at them, at himself, “And…” he struggles, he knows he can’t think, knows his English is appalling right now, wishes now more than ever that Henrik spoke enough Russian so he could explain himself. “You and me, make plans.”

Henrik shook his head softly, “I’m not going anywhere beautiful,” he glanced around, making sure no-one was looking their way, and bent forward to press a soft kiss to Igor’s cheekbone, kissing away the tear which sat there, “I can wait until you’re better.”

When they called him to go over the results of his x-rays, Henrik came with him. He couldn’t translate, but it didn’t matter – Igor already knew there was a break, all he cared about was how many weeks, and he knew Henrik would ask that question for him.

They go through the questions, Henrik does most of the talking for him, and most of the understanding and remembering – Igor lets himself zone out, until Henrik places a hand on his, letting him know that they’ve finished talking.

“Time?” Is all Igor can remember how to say.

“Six weeks.” Henrik gives him a sad smile, and then adds, “Georgie and I will take them to the playoffs, you’ll be well in time to win us that cup.”

When Pasha is discharged, Artemi asks if he wants to go straight home, or wait for Igor – he knows before he asks what the answer will be.

“Wait, of course we’re waiting for him.” Pasha has stopped crying, he seems to be able to hold himself together, as long as Artemi has a quiet hand on his shoulder. He slings his arm around him, watching as Pasha plays his stupid dragon game on his phone, and for a few minutes there’s nothing else in the world but the two of them.

Artemi startles when he feels the hand on his shoulder, he looks up to see Henrik’s calm face.

“You didn’t need to wait,” the goaltender reprimands gently, “I’m sure Buchie needed to get home.”

“I wanted stay.” Pasha looks up at him, and then switches back into Russian, “Ok?” He asks Igor, where the younger man stands, so close to Henrik their shoulders are touching.

“Fractured rib, maybe up to six weeks.” Igor smiles wryly. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

“Coming home with us?” Tyomek asks – Igor doesn’t live with them, but he spends a lot of time in their spare room.

Igor glances questioningly over at Henrik, and then realises for once, he’s the one with the language advantage. “Tyomek ask…” he falters, and then looks pleadingly at his friend.

“Wanted to know if Igor wanted to crash in our spare room.” Artemi isn’t quite sure why he has to relate this question to Henrik.

Henrik runs a soft hand through Igor’s hair, “Your choice.” He said softly, which seems weird to Artemi, because of course it’s Igor’s fucking choice, but he knows that Henrik is strange. “Theirs or mine, I don’t think you should be on your own.”

Artemi nods in agreement, he doesn’t think Igor should be on his own, it’s one of the reasons he conceded to staying at the hospital with Pasha until the young goalie was allowed to leave with them.

“Stay with us,” Pasha reaches out to brush his fingers against Igor’s, and Artemi has to stifle the grin that threatens to break out across his face because they are so adorable. “Please Igoryok.”

Igor glances up at Henrik, looking like he wants to ask for something.

Henrik smiles, the way he’s looking at Igor is softer than Artemi has ever seen him look, and he knows in that moment something has changed between the two of them.

“Henke can come and keep an eye on you Igoryok,” he says quickly, “You know Pasha keeps my hands full.” He says it in English, so Henke can understand him, and there’s a moment when understanding passes between them, and he can practically feel Henrik’s gratitude.

Igor nods, and together, they head out to hail a cab. Artemi is used to Igor and Pasha, and how adorable they are when they hold hands and lean into each other, but Henrik can’t keep his eyes off them.

Igor shows Henrik to the guest room as soon as they get in, it’s technically Pasha’s room, but he’s never used it, and Igor sleeps there more than anyone else does, and it has toiletries in the adjoining bathroom.

Artemi watches Henrik, as Henrik watches Pasha and Igor together, their soft friendly kisses, normal back home, less so here, but Henke seems more fond and indulgent than surprised by it.

By the time they sink into bed, Artemi feels sleep pulling at him almost instantly – he’s exhausted, and he’s probably had the least exhausting day out of all of them. He reaches out to pull Pasha into his arms, as gently as he can, conscious that he could hurt Pasha, but needing him close.

“Thank you,” Pasha says softly, pressing a soft kiss to Artemi’s lips, “For everything today Tyomechka.”

“You know I’d do anything for you Pavushenka,” Artemi buries his face in Pasha’s neck, inhaling the scent of him, feeling the weight of him safe in his arms, where he belongs. “Anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> As with most of my rangers fic, this fits in with the rangers world I am creating (hence why there are illusions to stuff happening off screen with igor and Henke, wait for my igor Henke centric fic which is in the works) Once the main fic has started to be uploaded I will put them all in a collection together.


End file.
